Hassouni, who is 75, is unimpressed with the city's $200-a-month offer. "In Arafat's time they promised us $1,000 a month but I never saw a drop of it, and I don't expect to see any now," he says. Nonetheless, he started opening again. Each morning he comes to work in a suit coat and tie and an old-fashioned black-and-white headscarf. He removes the double set of padlocks, metal bars, and a fitted interior lock, an elaborate ritual that takes at least ten minutes. Soldiers have come by and ordered him to close, but he says he has demanded a written order. Hassouni's resigned expression suggests that he knows his attempts to resist are probably futile. Still, he's willing to try. After all, this is his business. Normal life cannot be forever denied.
Two days later, my cellphone rings. It's Hassouni, calling to tell me that a half dozen soldiers came by his shop that morning. They brought a written decree ordering him to close for four months. They handed the paper to Hassouni, then welded shut the metal shutters of the store with an acetylene torch. The conflict rules.
This article was first published at Moment Magazine, a Patheos Partner, and is reprinted with permission.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In